


Tumblr Ficlets

by AnaliseGrey



Category: Critical Role (Web Series), Multi-Fandom, Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: BOUS (Bugs of Unusual Size), Burns, C2:e26, Captivity, Doritos - Freeform, Fever, Gen, Hunk hosts Passover, Mollymauk has a crush, Nott and beds, Other, Punishment, Shiro (Voltron) Whump, Shiro's new hair, Sickfic, Silly Arguments, Time Travel, Torture, Vague Spoilers, Whipping, Whump, vague fictional respiratory illness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-15
Updated: 2019-03-27
Packaged: 2019-04-23 01:33:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 9,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14321622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnaliseGrey/pseuds/AnaliseGrey
Summary: This is going to become a compilation of my Tumblr ficlets. Since I write for various fandoms, this is listed as multi-fandom, though I will update the fandoms and tags as I add things, so keep an eye on that.





	1. Shiro and Pidge- 'No matter what happens, stay behind me'

This was inspired by [this artwork by gorey-wog on tumblr](https://gorey-wog.tumblr.com/post/172934634887/analisegrey-strugglingtoast-analisegrey), which was in turn prompted by a request for Shiro whump, while protecting either Keith or Pidge (gorey-wog chose Pidge)

***

 

When they were first taken, Shiro had hoped that their captivity would be brief. He knew a lot could happen in even a short period of time, but he’d seen the paladins pull off some risky stunts; and while he’d never want them to put themselves at unnecessary risk, he’d hoped that maybe this time it would translate into them getting him and Pidge loose before anything too awful could happen.

That hope went out the window within the first few hours when both he and Pidge were shoved into the communal prisoner showers and told to strip.

They complied, Pidge muttering curses under her breath the whole time, an angry flush lit over her cheeks; Shiro mostly tried not to slip into the flashback he could feel trying to edge in, trying to keep a grasp on his current reality, however shitty it was.

They showered quickly, and dressed in the prisoner uniforms that were provided. Shiro pulled the tattered purple shirt over his head and had to fight to keep from shaking. The sentries keeping watch ushered them back to their cell and shoved them in, locking the door behind them.

The two of them ended up huddled against the far wall, leaning against each other for warmth and support. Shiro could feel Pidge trembling against him, but whenever he looked down at her, the part of her face he could see was set in a combination of grim determination and irate fury. He found if he focused on her, the creeping-clawing panic that kept trying to come over him was held at bay. This time would be different. They wouldn’t be here that long. This time there were others looking for them, who knew they were missing and who knew who had taken them, and it would be fine.

It was just hard to keep that in mind when the door opened, and a Galra officer walked in, a control stick in hand, already lit, and crackling purple.

Shiro broke out in a cold sweat. He didn’t remember everything from his missing year, but some things stood out stark in his memory, even now. 

The first time he killed in the Arena.

The fight that took his arm.

And while no specific incident stood out, Shiro remembers the control sticks. He remembers them, and he will  _ not  _ let them touch Pidge with it.

“Pidge, no matter what happens, stay behind me.”

And before Pidge can finish exclaiming in outrage at him, Shiro levers himself up to a crouch in front of her and prepares to engage. He’s scared- he knows how much this is going to hurt- but that doesn’t matter. 

He won’t let it touch her.

The Galra officer advanced through the door, two sentries coming in on either side of him and moving further into the cell towards the prisoners.

“I will ask nicely, first. There is no reason to be uncivilized. Where is the Castle of Lions?” Purple sparked along the points of the control stick and Shiro fought not to look at it, to keep his gaze locked on the officer’s face as he answered.

“And what happens if we don’t tell you.”

The officer smirked, letting his fangs show. His thumb moved on the stick, and the sparks turned momentarily brighter, glinting off the wicked points on the ends.

“I think you  _ know  _ what happens if you don’t.”

Shiro took a deep breath, trying to center himself and prepare for what he knew was about to be a really awful experience. It was just pain. It was just pain, and pain was temporary. It would suck in the moment, but he knew it would pass.

Eventually.

Shiro looked the officer square in the eye. “We’re not telling you anything.”

If anything, the Galra’s smirk grew wider.

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

The sentries advanced, and Shiro rose to meet them, taking a swipe at the closest one even if he knew it was a losing battle; the weapon functions on his arm had been disengaged when they were first captured, and even with extra strength, the sentries were still stronger.

Soon the sentries had hold of both his arms and had dragged him closer to the officer before forcing him down to his knees. Shiro fought to keep his face neutral and not to flinch back as the officer stepped forward and waved the control stick at him. The officer paused, tilting his head to the side in consideration.

“I thought I recognized you. I’d heard that Champion had become one of the Voltron brats. I was a fan of yours; you won me a lot of GAC in the betting circles. If you were in the Arena, then I’m sure you remember these,” the officer waved the stick closer, but didn’t make contact. “And just how much they hurt. Are you sure you won’t reconsider?”

Shiro really didn’t want to do this; but he also refused to let them hurt Pidge if he could help it, and they couldn’t reveal where the Castle was. So this was really the only choice, and he knew it. So Shiro did what he did best. 

He squared his jaw and braced for pain. “No.”

Without warning, the officer jabbed forward with the stick, catching Shiro just under his ribs with the front  points of the stick. All the bracing in the world couldn’t keep him from screaming. God, he’d thought he remembered how bad this was, but his memory couldn’t come close to how it actually felt, electric acid that exploded from the point of contact and flared outward. He thought he could hear Pidge yelling behind him, but it was hard to tell over his own screaming.

As soon as it started, it stopped, and Shiro sagged into the hold the sentries had on him, trying to catch his breath. Temporary. This was temporary, this was-

“Will you tell me where the Castle of Lions is?”

“No.”

The officer aimed the stick just above the connection point between Shiro’s prosthetic and and his upper arm, and Shiro couldn’t even scream. He tried curling in on himself, almost gagging with pain, but it didn’t stop, it felt like it was going on forever,  _ it always felt like forever _ \-  **NO** . Temporary. This was  _ temporary _ , it wouldn’t last forever, he just had to hold out, keep hanging on.

Eventually it stopped. 

Until the officer asked again.

And again.

And again.

Shiro lost track of how many times the officer asked about the Castle, lost track of where he was, lost track of himself.

When he came back around, he was being dropped onto the floor, the pain a dull buzz along his nerves. He realized he was still muttering ‘no’, and clenched his jaw shut, made himself stop.

“I’ll be back in a few vargas. You may want to rethink your answer. I’ll start on the little one, next.”

Shiro heard the door slam and lock shut, and he let his eyes slip closed.

A small hand landed on the side of his face, gentle, and he jumped, eyes snapping open again. Above him, Pidge’s face loomed over him, drawn with worry, anger, helplessness, and streaked with tears.

“Damnit, Shiro, why did you  _ do  _ that? Why would you let them hurt you like that, you shouldn’t-”

Shiro was already shaking his head back and forth, rolling it side to side on the floor. “No...couldn’t...can’t let them hurt you, not like that. Won’t let them.”

PIdge sniffled above him, muttered “ _ Idiot _ .” quietly, even as she tried to tug him up so his head was resting on her lap.

The others would come, he knew they would; hopefully before the officer came back. Pidge was still safe for now, they hadn’t touched her, and he wouldn’t let them. Nothing else mattered, really. He hurt everywhere, but it was ok.

It was only temporary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Now continued here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/14529294) as part of the 2018 Birthday Whump Bingo Challenge!


	2. Shiro and the unnecessarily-large bug

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Uhiri was a beautiful planet.  
> Located in the Uflion system, it had a mostly tropical climate, with lush, vibrant flora and fauna. The sun sparkled through the rain as it fell, making it look like it was raining down jewels, and the the reflected light created rainbows which only highlighted the beautiful flowers in a myriad of colors scattered everywhere the eye could see.  
> It was beautiful, serene, picturesque.
> 
> And Shiro hated it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based off an [artwork by gorey-wog, for 'dangerous bugs'](https://gorey-wog.tumblr.com/post/172983312692/dangerous-bugs%20%0A)

Uhiri was a beautiful planet.

Located in the Uflion system, it had a mostly tropical climate, with lush, vibrant flora and fauna. The sun sparkled through the rain as it fell, making it look like it was raining down jewels, and the the reflected light created rainbows which only highlighted the beautiful flowers in a myriad of colors scattered everywhere the eye could see.

It was beautiful, serene, picturesque.

And Shiro hated it.

It seemed to be a constant, across any jungle planet they’d visited, that there would inevitably be some of the following:.

  1. Sweltering heat.
  2. Unfathomable humidity.
  3. Dangerous plants.
  4. Unnecessarily-large bugs.



The heat, technically, wasn’t a problem. If he was in his armor, it was temperature controlled, but just knowing it was there made him feel unpleasantly warm. It didn’t help that if they had their helmets open, his visor had this odd tendency to fog up when it was humid. Coran had checked it and just shrugged, offering to try to coat it in something to help, but it just hadn’t happened yet. (Lance insisted it was because Shiro was ‘steamy dreamy’, to which Shiro rolled his eyes, and Keith told him to shut up.)

Which, yeah, the humidity. Again, normally with his armor on it was mitigated, but the issue with his helmet seemed to carry over, and inevitably his bangs would end up soaked with sweat, and when he took his helmet off, his forelock always ended up sticking up and out in weird ways.

The plants were mostly avoidable, or if not avoidable, at least they were usually small enough not to be a problem.

Then there were the bugs. On the conceptual level, Shiro didn’t care if there were bugs the size of dinner plates. It was when he had to deal with them on a more practical hands-on level that they became problematic.

He and Hunk were eyeing the cliff face that held the crystal component Allura insisted was necessary for running the quantum something-or-other in the navigation systems (frankly, Shiro had stopped trying to make sense of it once he knew Hunk would be with him; he didn’t need to know how it worked, just what it looked like).

The crystal they needed was here, but it was almost completely encased,  not just in the side of the rock face it was embedded in, but also in thick greenish-blue vines that seemed to stem from a larger plant body that was almost as big around as Shiro’s torso.

“So...do you think we can just pull them off, or are we gonna have to chop them or something?” Hunk poked at one of the vines with a stick he’d found on their way to the crystal.

Shiro eyed the vines, each of which were at least as thick around as his wrist, and sighed, reaching up to scrub another rivulet of sweat away from his forehead before it could reach his eyes. He’d taken his helmet off and set it aside, already tired of having to keep wiping the visor off to see.

“We can try pulling them off first, but we may need to resort to other measures to get them off if that doesn’t work. I can always use my-” Before Shiro could finish his sentence, there was an almost deafening buzz that whizzed near his head, and a sudden stinging pinch at the back of his neck. Reflexively he slapped at it with his right hand, and the whatever it was gave a sickening crunch and the buzzing came to an abrupt stop. Shiro and Hunk just looked at each other for a moment.

“I’m not sure I even wanna know, dude.” Hunk looked a bit green as he warily eyed where Shiro’s arm disappeared around the back of his head. Shiro decided to just get it over with, and he pulled his hand back around, still holding the whatever-it-was that had stung him.

“Eugh!” Shiro scratched absently at the sting site while he looked at the enormous insect that had stung him. The bug was the size of a small bird, and Shiro had to fight down the visceral reaction that made him want to fling it away with a scream. Instead he took a deep breath and let it out slowly before he tossed the creature aside, and grumpily stuck his helmet back on.

“Team, keep your helmets on, there are mosquitos here.”

“And they are huge as  _ quiznack _ .”

Keith muttered, “I  _ still  _ don’t think that’s how that word works.”

Shiro heard Lance take a breath and cut him off before the conversation could get out of hand.

“If we could please focus on getting the crystals we need. The faster we get them, the faster we can get back to the Castle.”

The others answered in affirmative, and Shiro turned to help Hunk start dealing with the plants when for a moment, the world went a bit...wavy.

Shiro blinked his eyes a few times, shaking his head, and when he opened his eyes again, things were clear, and everything looked normal.

“Hey, you ok?” Hunk looked concerned, and Shiro did not have time for concerned.

“Yeah, I’m ok, just got some sweat in my eyes is all. I hate jungle planets.”

Hunk nodded. “Truth, buddy, truth. Let’s get this giant crystal thingy and get out of here.”

With some brute strength (and a bit of help from Shiro’s Galra hand) they were able to get the plants off the rock face, and pry the large crystal out of the rock face. Shiro asked Hunk if he was ok to carry it, and Hunk snorted. “Dude, my bayard weighs at least twice as much as this thing. I’ll be ok.”

They started their way back to where the Castle was settled, and Shiro noticed his vision going weird a couple more times, but he was still sweating, even under his armor’s attempts to mitigate the heat and humidity. He could feel a headache starting up, and he just wanted to get back so he could strip down and maybe go for a swim in the pool before taking a nap. There was stuff to be done with the crystals, but that was mostly up to the techies in the group; he didn’t have much to do with it.

The others were arriving back at the Castle at the same time, and Lance immediately started comparing crystal sizes, claiming his to be the biggest. The good-natured bickering continued on into the Castle, and Shiro removed his helmet, glad to feel the cooler air of the Castle on his face as Coran moved in with a floating cart to take the crystals. Shiro pushed his bangs up and out of his way, but they flopped wetly back into his face, and he sighed in frustration.

“Guys, I’m going to go change and maybe-” Shiro turned as he spoke, but the room seemed to keep moving even when he stopped, and his eyes widened as he lost his balance, arms flinging out as he fell on his ass.

There was a beat of silence before the others descended around him, asking if he was ok, and what was wrong.

“I...I’m not sure. I just got dizzy all of a sudden. I think it’s maybe the heat, I’ve been sweating like crazy.”

The paladins and Coran looked at each other, then back at Shiro. Coran shook his head. 

“Number one, the regulators in your suit should adjust to keep you at optimal temperatures. Nothing pinged as malfunctioning, so it should be working properly. Let me just-” Coran brought out his data pad and tapped at it few times before scrolling, his brows furrowing deeper the longer he scrolled. He looked over the pad at Shiro, eyes narrowed.

“How are you feeling, number one?’

“Uh…fine? I mean, I feel warm, but this is a jungle planet. Why?”

“Your temperature is elevated above what you’ve told me is normal for your species, and your pulse is quite elevated. Did anything happen while you were getting the crystal?”

“I mean, not really. We got out there, dug the crystal out, and came back.”

“Uh, yeah, but there was also the part where you got stung by a  _ huge quiznacking bug _ .”

Everyone turned to look at Hunk, and he pinked, but held his hands up to span the size the insect. “Seriously. It was huge.”

“ _ Shiro _ , holy hell!”

Shiro flinched at the light touch on the back of his neck, and turned to look up at Keith, whose face was making a complicated combination of furious and horrified. “Shiro, this looks really bad, why didn’t you say anything?”

Shiro reached up to feel at his neck but Coran caught his wrist before he could make contact. “Maybe we should check that out before you go touching it, eh, number one?”

Shiro sighed. There went most of his hopes for a swim and a nap.

He made to stand up, but almost as soon as he was upright the room went wobbly again, and only Keith’s quick reflexes saved Shiro from toppling over again. Huh.

“Yeah, ok, that might be a good idea.”

 


	3. Hunk hosting Passover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From the prompt: "Hunk hosts Passover" from [Unforth](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Unforth/pseuds/Unforth)

“Oh my god, Hunk, what  _ is  _ this?!”

Hunk looked up from where he was chopping a bright purple root, and narrowed his eyes at Lance. “I warned you not to taste that.”

Lance's eyes watered as he wiped desperately at his tongue. “Id tahst ike bunning.”

Hunk rolled his eyes and went back to chopping, knife making quick work of the rest of the root.

“It’s bitter herb, Lance. I don’t have horseradish, so I had to pick something else. The nahroe root’s the closest I could find that was safe for human consumption.”

Lance eyed the offending root as if he expected it to jump up and bite him. “Are you sure it’s safe? It doesn’t  _ taste  _ like it’s safe.”

Hunk dumped the chopped nahroe into a dish and moved on to his next project, grating a smaller round fruit into another bowl.

Lance sidled up next to him, going up on his toes to try to peer around Hunk's shoulder to see what he was doing.

“What about this one, is this one ok, or does it also taste like sad, firey death?”

Without looking, Hunk put the back of the hand holding the fruit to Lance’s face and gently pushed him back, then returned to grating the fruit.

“You can, though I wouldn’t suggest it yet. It’s a bit tart, and won’t taste sweeter until I’ve added the other ingredients.”

Lance looked like he was about to hop up on the counter, but changed his mind at the look Hunk shot him.

“So...why are you making all this stuff again? I mean, not that you need an excuse to cook, that’s cool, that’s your thing, dude, but this doesn’t seem like normal food.”

“It’s just about springtime back at the Garrison.”

Hunk took the bowl of grated fruit and brought it over to the cooktop. There was a pan that was on a pad to cool, and Hunk took some of the liquid inside and splashed it into the bowl; snagging a spice grinder from the counter next to the bowl, he gave it a few turns and then mixed the whole mess together.

“Springtime at home meant helping my aunt celebrate Passover. We weren’t Jewish, but she’d converted when she got married, and the first couple of nights include huge dinners, and well,” Hunk shrugged as he stirred. “You know me, I like to cook. So I’d go help her prepare to host. I guess I kind of miss it. Here, taste this?”

Hunk scooped up some of the mixture onto the mixing spoon and held it up to Lance’s mouth.

Lance eyed it warily for a moment before leaning forward to take a taste. His eyes widened.

“I have no idea what that’s supposed to taste like or be imitating but holy  _ cheese _ , Hunk. Can I have more?” Lance made grabbyhands at the bowl, and Hunk indulged him with one more small bit before moving away with the bowl to wrap it and the bowl of shredded nahroe up to put them in the cooler unit for later.

“That’s supposed to be the charoset. Normally I’d make it with apples, cinnamon, ground nuts and some wine, but again, I had to improvise. Turns out if you add sweetener crystals to nunvil and cook it down some, it tastes a bit like kosher wine. Who knew, right?”

Lance’s eyes grew even wider. “Holy shit, man, that was  _ nunvil _ ? You’re a kitchen wizard, Hunkalicious. I don’t know how we all got so lucky. What’re you doing next? Tell me all about it.”

Hunk grabbed the egg he was going to roast, and as he started to explain what he was doing to Lance, home suddenly didn’t feel so far away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, prompts are always welcome! Feel free to comment here or send me one through my ask box at [AnaliseGrey](http://analisegrey.tumblr.com) on tumblr!


	4. Red vs. Blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Blue, my sad, mulleted friend. End of story. Do not pass ‘Go’, do not collect $200. Blue is best.”
> 
> “That’s bullshit and you know it, Lance. Everyone knows red is better.”
> 
> Shiro sighed, not bothering to look up from his data pad.
> 
> “Both your lions are valid, strong, and wonderful in their own unique way. Stop arguing.”
> 
> Lance snorted. “Oh, we’re not talking about our lions, though yes, Blue is superior in every conceivable way. We’re talking about Doritos.”
> 
> Ok, that Shiro was not expecting. He looked up at the two other paladins. “What?”

It didn’t really matter how hard Shiro tried to pay attention. The reports he was trying to read just really were that boring. He didn’t know how the Blade managed to make reports about epic space battles boring, and yet…

He was starting to contemplate going to the kitchen for a snack when the door to the common area whooshed open and Lance and Keith wandered in, deep in the middle of what looked like a heated discussion.

“Blue, my sad, mulleted friend. End of story. Do not pass ‘Go’, do not collect $200. Blue is best.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it, Lance. Everyone knows red is better.”

Shiro sighed, not bothering to look up from his data pad.

“Both your lions are valid, strong, and wonderful in their own unique way. Stop arguing.”

Lance snorted. “Oh, we’re not talking about our lions, though yes, Blue is superior in every conceivable way. We’re talking about Doritos.”

Ok, that Shiro wasn't expecting that. He looked up at the two other paladins. “What?”

Lance nodded, while Keith just crossed his arms and continued to scowl at Lance. “Yup. Which Dorito flavor rules supreme. The cool, refreshing bursts of flavor from the ever-awesome Cool Ranch, or the basic cheesy flavor of Nacho. Blue is obviously best.”

“Red.”

“Shut up Keith. Search your feelings, you know it to be true.”

“Don’t you quote Star Wars at me, that doesn’t give you any kind of legitimacy. Nacho is the original, and therefore the best.”

Before Lance could respond with more than a squack of outrage, Shiro interrupted them.

“You’re both wrong.”

Lance and Keith turned to look at Shiro, who had gone back to scrolling through his data pad.

“Purple. Spicy sweet chili is obviously superior to both Cool Ranch or Nacho.”

There was a beat of silence, then Lance burst into protest, but Keith just looked contemplative, considering. 

“You know, Lance, he might have a point.”

“ _ What _ ? No, nonono, you can’t just jump ship to the new snazzy flavor; where are your morals, Keith? Your loyalty?”

“What? I like sweet and spicy stuff, too. I think Shiro’s right. I’m changing my mind; spicy sweet chili is best.”

“You can’t just...just... _ change your mind _ !”

“You two have fun.” Shiro stood and walked out of the lounge to the sounds of Lance and Keith’s voices rising again, a smile on his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick thought that floated across my mind. And now it's here :)
> 
> Enjoy!


	5. One of Those Days- Shiro (Voltron) and Keith (Voltron)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a quick fill for a prompt by tumblr user sonderquill, in response to the picture below, which is the creation of the amazing [Johanna the Mad](http://johannathemad.tumblr.com/)

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/161205647@N08/42937994061/in/dateposted-public/)

“You know,” Shiro said, dragging Keith around a corner and out of sight of the main street. “Normally this is the sort of trouble Lance gets into.”

Keith was bent over, breathing hard, one hand on his knee and the other curled protectively over the slice that had been opened along his side. “Yeah, well,” he took another couple of ragged breaths, and pushed himself back upright with a wince and a shrug. “Just one of those days, I guess.”

Shiro snorted a laugh. “I guess so.”

Keith looked Shiro over and grimaced apologetically. “Shit, they really got you, didn’t they?” He reached up and ran a thumb over a scrape on the curve of Shiro’s cheek, eyed the long cut on Shiro’s shoulder with a growing frown.

“Not as bad as they hit you. How’re your ribs doing?”

Keith glanced down and lifted the ragged edge of his shirt where the angry merchant’s knife had sliced through. Keith was lucky his reflexes were as good as they were, or he’d be missing some of his internal organs. “Could be worse.”

“Could be better though, right?”

Keith was about to answer when the sounds of yelling got closer and they both froze, looking toward the entrance of the short alleyway they were hiding in.

“They can’t be too far, I can smell that kid’s blood from here. Find them!”

“Figures Galra blood would be something they could smell.” Keith muttered.

Shiro sighed. “Yeah. C’mon, if we go out the back of this alley we should be able to make a break for the Castle.”

Keith nodded. “Let’s go.”


	6. Voltron Post Season 6 prompt- Shiro's discount

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stellagains on tumblr asked: "Just a quick Post-S6 prompt! The gang is back on earth and Shiro goes to the groceries/movies/etc and comes back very obviously upset. They ask him what's wrong and he says they gave him a discount. What's wrong with that? It was a Senior Citizen discount... <3"

The door to the hotel suite they were sharing slammed open.  
  
“LANCE!”  
  
Everyone jumped and turned towards the door.  
  
“Lance!” Pidge hissed. “What did you do?!”  
  
Lance’s eyes were round as dinner plates. “I…I didn’t  _do_ anything!”  
  
Hunk glanced worriedly over the top of the couch towards the front door. “Then why is Shiro yelling at you? He never yells!”  
  
Before Lance could respond, Shiro stormed into the room looking a little crazed, with a bag from the local pharmacy in-hand.  
  
“Lance, I need your help.”  
  
“Uh, sure, whatever you need, Shiro. What’s up?”  
  
”With all that stuff you do with-” Shiro gestured to his face. “-do you ever dye your hair?”  
  
Lance slowly shook his head. “Not my own, no, I’ve never needed to, but I did help my cousin Mariposa once-”  
  
“Perfect.” Shiro shoved everything off the coffee table in front of the couch, and proceeded to dump out the bag he was holding onto the table. At least 5 boxes of different hair dyes in varying shades of black.  
  
“But-” Hunk looked between the boxes littering the table and Shiro. “I thought you didn’t mind? You said you were ok with it?”  
  
Shiro scowled, and if Lance hadn’t known him as well, he’d almost have categorized it as a pout.  
  
“I thought I was, but then I was out at the store, and…and…”   
  
“What is it, Shiro, you can tell us, do we need to go beat someone up?” Pidge drew herself up to her full height. “We’ll totally kick someone’s ass if we need to.”  
  
Shiro seemed to wilt, dropping onto the couch between Lance and Hunk, and put his face in his hand, and muttered something.  
  
Lance leaned forward and placed a careful hand on Shiro’s shoulder. “What was that?”  
  
“They gave me the senior’s discount.”  
  
It was a solid twenty minutes before they could stop laughing long enough to help him.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have a prompt for me? Want to say hi, flail about, or ask me a question? Come say hi to me on tumblr at [Analisegrey](http://analisegrey.tumblr.com/)!


	7. Mollymauk Tealeaf makes a startling discovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Apparently Caleb can *smile*...who the hell knew?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I started listening to Critical Role season 2. There was a moment in episode 3 that struck me, and prompted this. My first attempt at CR fic, so be gentle, please.

It’s going on 3 in the afternoon, but as far as Molly is concerned, it’s too early. He’s mostly recovered from the previous evening, wounds healed up into new scars that will soon enough look like the others, but there’s still a drag to his step he knows won’t abate until he’s had something to eat and drink. He really hopes there’s coffee.

The common room of the Nestled Nook Inn is lively even at this hour, too late for a normal lunch, and still too early for dinner, but they manage to get Yorda’s attention and have cold leftovers from lunch brought out along with drinks, and gods love them, there’s coffee.

He’s hunched over his steaming mug, feeling marginally more alive than a few minutes ago, when the door to the Inn bursts open and in come Caleb and Nott; it takes a moment for Molly to sort out why Caleb looks different.

He’s  _smiling_.

Caleb is speaking animatedly with Nott, pinching her cheeks before hurrying to a corner seat and setting down one of the books in his hands, almost immediately burying his nose in the other, his face a study in rapt attention, and Molly is struck by the idea that Caleb is kind of cute when he’s happy and smiling, and they ought to try to get him to do that more.

In the next instant his brain catches up with what it just said, and he stills.  
  
Oh. Oh no. They’ve only known each other a few days.  
  
He looks again over the rim of his mug, notes how bright Caleb’s eyes look when he’s excited, how different his posture looks when he’s distracted and not hunched in on himself, and-  
  
Well.

_Fuck_.

Molly takes a deep breath and rubs a hand over his face before downing the rest of his coffee. This will complicate things.


	8. whipping- Shiro (VLD)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written in response to [this fanart](http://analisegrey.tumblr.com/post/177348377718/gorey-wog-they-caught-him-sharing-rations-with), created by the wonderful gorey-wog.

The first time they’d caught him sharing rations, they’d stuck him in solitary for two days in a cold lightless cell with only a handful of water packets. He’d emerged blinking against the light shaken, but undeterred.

The second time they’d caught him, they’d broken his fingers one by one, and he was in solitary for a week. When his time was up they’d healed him and sent him to a fight he’d barely won, but still, he was undeterred. He was hurting, but others were hurting worse, and he was going to help in any way he could, no matter how small.

“You just don’t learn, do you?”

The warden of the gladiator cells looms over Shiro, and Shiro glares back. He would spit at the warden if he could, but they’d put a muzzle on him when they’d caught him sharing his rations again. He’s been wearing it most of a week this time, only allowed to eat while supervised and away from the other prisoners, but one of the guards had gotten careless, and he was able to sneak a few of the protein cakes to another prisoner, though obviously not as successfully as he’d thought. The two guards holding his arms squeeze, their claws digging in through his uniform, and he only barely manages to hold back a wince. The warden eyes him contemplatively, then motions for the guards to follow as he turns and heads down a hall.

“Somehow despite all our efforts, you have not learned your place yet. I think it’s time for a more thorough lesson.”

They haul him down the corridor and into a room; the room is bare, though there’s a drain in the center of the floor and spots in the ceiling that Shiro recognizes as generators for the hard-light restraints the Galra use. He tries to slow his forward momentum, digging his heels in to the floor, but he’s no match for the guards, and he knows it. They soon have him in position, the guards holding him fast as the warden clicks cuffs onto each of Shiro’s wrists and steps back. With a quiet hum, two glowing purple strands drop from the generators in the ceiling and snap to connect with the cuffs which light up purple. The guards let go of his arms as the glowing cords pull taut and his arms are wrenched up above his head, almost pulling him off the floor.

“Perhaps we’ve been too gentle with you so far, and that’s our fault. It’s a mistake we’re going to remedy, though, don’t you worry.” The warden has moved off to the side as the guards take up positions, one in front of him, and one behind. He can’t see the guard behind him, but the one in front pulls a small metal cylinder from his belt and a moment later a glowing white tendril unfurls from it, swishing with movement as the guard flicks his wrist.

Shiro swallows behind the muzzle, eyes going wide and  _oh god_ \- his pulse is hammering in his chest, and for the first time in a week he’s glad of the muzzle so they can’t hear the involuntary whine of fear as he realizes what’s about to happen.

“Oh, don’t look so nervous. The whips cauterize the wounds they cause, so you won’t bleed out. But perhaps this time you’ll take the lesson to heart. Whenever you’re ready, gentlemen.”

There’s not even a whisper of noise to warn him before a line of searing pain lights up across his shoulders. The pain is so intense and immediate he can’t react, stunned. The guard in front of him is already in motion, and this time he can see the whip coming, but it doesn’t matter; he can’t get out of the way, and the whip lands across his chest, slicing through the thin fabric of his uniform, scorching a line of fire across the skin underneath, snapping him out of his shock and he screams, though it’s muffled by the muzzle.

The whips fall into a rhythm, one blow falling, then another, no respite in between until they’re blending together. Shiro can’t hope to keep track of how many blows are falling, and while there’s a rhythm, there’s no pattern to where the blows land. His uniform shreds under the white-hot burn of the whips, some of the fabric melting into him, but when they start to kiss bare skin it’s even worse. After a while it doesn’t matter that he’s wearing a muzzle, he’s yelled himself voiceless, screaming silently, twisting in the restraints even though he knows it’s hopeless. The restraints are keeping him more or less in place, and the guards are practiced, following his twisting movements to land strikes across his torso, his arms, along his hips and legs.

“Enough.”

The blows stop, though it takes Shiro a few seconds to realize it. His body is on fire, burning with some of the worst pain he’s ever experienced, and he’s sagging in the restraints, unable to hold himself up. His uniform is holding on more by luck than structural integrity, and he’s shaking with sobs he no longer has a voice for.

The warden approaches, catching Shiro roughly by the chin and tilting his head up. Shiro’s vision is blurry with tears, though he fuzzily thinks he’d have trouble focusing anyway.

“Let this be a lesson. This is the third time we’ve caught you; do you really want to know what happens if we catch you again? Are you that much a glutton for punishment?”

The warden releases Shiro’s chin to let his head fall back down against his chest. “Take him to solitary. We’ll give him a few days to absorb the lesson.” The guards release the restraints, and Shiro drops into an agonized heap on the floor, wheezing out a muffled sound of pain. They grab his arms, hauling him up, and it hurts,  _god_  it hurts, but he doesn’t have the energy to do much more than shudder as they drag him off.

They take him to the solitary block, and he’s embarrassingly thankful when they drop him on the cold floor and leave him alone in the dark to pass out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heya! Wanna shout at me, flail, ask a question, or just say hi? Feel free to come find me on tumblr at [Analisegrey](http://analisegrey.tumblr.com/)!


	9. Nott and Beds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> flash fiction based off [this tumblr post from BoblinSchmoblin](http://boblinschmoblin.tumblr.com/post/181838014090/was-caleb-around-when-nott-got-the-chance-to-sleep), talking about Nott's first experience with a bed.

She knew what a bed was, of  _course_ she did, she wasn’t  _stupid_.

That didn’t mean she’d ever actually, you know, seen one up close.

Or slept in one before.

Or touched one.

There’d been the mounds of blankets and moldering cushions back with her clan, but those were more nests than beds, really, and she didn’t think the piles of dirty straw at the jail had counted.

“Nott, are you alright? Is there something wrong with the bed?”

“What? No! No, there’s nothing wrong.” Nott took a running leap and vaulted up onto the bed, landing toward the middle and sinking into down-stuffed softness, her eyes going wide. She wiggled, and she sank only a little further before stopping. She patted around herself- the blankets were soft, worn but clean, smelling of lavender when she moved. When she stretched out all the way, there was still a lot of room around the edges and she wasn’t able to touch both sides of the bed at once. She sighed, grabbed the edge of the blanket and rolled, taking it with her until she was wrapped up and secure, warm and comfortable. So far, beds were pretty great.

“Nott?”

She startled. She’d almost forgotten Caleb was there, but now he was looking at her, a tired but bemused smile on his face as he set his pack down.

“Have you never been in a bed before?” His voice was gentle as always, not remotely judgmental. Just curious.

“Uh-” Nott flopped over so she was facing Caleb where he stood by the bedside. “No?”

Caleb’s smile grew, the lines around his eyes softening, and oh, that was nice. He didn’t smile anywhere near enough.

“You should try the bed, Caleb, it’s really nice! It’s all soft and smells nice, and isn’t pokey or anything!”

He gingerly sat on the edge of the bed. “This is nice, yes.”

Well, that wouldn’t do. Nott wormed one of her arms out from the blankets and grabbed him by the sleeve, tugging sharply until he laid down on the bed as well. He, being much bigger than her, didn’t have the room to sprawl the same way, but his head reached all the way up to the pillow, and the quiet sigh he gave as he settled into the mattress was comforting.

“Perhaps we will take a short nap before we find dinner,  _ja_?”

Nott yawned and wriggled closer so she was pressed up against Caleb’s side, curling against him like she’d seen Frumpkin do. He hand came to rest over her back, and as she dozed off, she thought she could get used to this whole bed thing.


	10. Time Travel- Critical Role and Caleb Widogast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from kittenlzlz on tumblr: " “I wanted to remember what home felt like.” time travel? A future gone wrong perhaps? (I like the idea of the m9 not a family yet meeting someone who regards them as family). Or just someone got lost along the way and found their way back to the group?"
> 
> Maybe not quite what they asked for, but Caleb still manages to bring the angst.

Everything’s gone to shit.

Caleb sits, staring blankly at the fire as his companions- those that are left- sleep around him, along with someone new, the dwarven woman, Keg. The whole thing has him feeling unsettled, out of sorts. Frumpkin fluffs his feathers and hops closer, pressing against him, but Caleb still misses the softness of fur, the deeply soothing purr of his cat.

How did they get here? How could this have happened?

He knows how. They got complacent. They got lazy. They got comfortable.

_He_ got comfortable.

He should know better than to think things will work out just because they want them to. That isn’t how the world works, and he knows it, but he let himself be led, pulled along by the optimism others in the group so easily exude ( _he doesn’t let himself think of Jester’s sunny grin, or Yasha’s quiet smile, or Fjord patting him reassuringly on the shoulder_ ).

He wonders if this is a sign from the gods he doesn’t believe in, of the Fate he’s been fighting both for and against since he woke in the asylum five years ago with the taste of screams and ash on his tongue.

He wonders to himself why he stays, if it’s worth it. Molly cannot help him, not as he is now. Caleb burns with an anger he doesn’t want to look too closely at that he’s willingly given up so much to Beau just to look at some books, let himself be goaded and manipulated so easily-  _again_. He looks over at Nott where she rests curled up in her bedroll, and as supportive as she’s been, as wonderful as she is, he can’t help but see the liabilities she brings along with her, hovering like the fumes from her flask.

He looks around at the group, and wonders if it wouldn’t be better to leave, now, before things have the chance to get worse, before he can become any further attached, before he can dirty them more with his inherent filth. He has things he wants to accomplish, things he  _must_ accomplish, and the foolish and naive moralities these people drag along with them will only hinder him.

He picks up his bag from the ground and stands before he quite realizes what he’s doing. From the log, Frumpkin gazes up at him and gives a soft hoot of question.

_Keep watch. Find me at dawn, back the way we came._

He can sense Frumpkin’s disapproval in his mind, but his familiar stays on the log when Caleb heads quietly toward the edge of the clearing, giving one last glance back before moving into the treeline.

He doesn’t get far before there’s a whisper of sound from his right, and his whole body freezes, rigid and unyielding as a spell takes hold of him.

He has a moment of sheer, mind-numbing panic, convinced the Shepherds have returned to scoop them up, the ones they missed the first night, and he fights, but fails to get free, unable to shake the spell loose.

And so he stands helpless, eyes rolling wildly, searching for his attacker though he knows it’s a fool’s errand. He can hardly see in the dark as it is; if his attacker is hiding in the shadows, he’s good as blind.

There’s the soft tread of footsteps over the detritus of the forest floor, and then a figure, of a height with him, standing in front of him. The voice when it comes is a definitive shock, the words soft, familiar-sounding.

“ _Ich werde dir nicht schäden_.”

Caleb wants to break into hysterical laughter, because that is  _his_ voice speaking to him, and perhaps he’s finally lost his mind again, the strain of recent events too much for his delicate constitution. His mouth is sealed shut, however, by the spell that holds him frozen, and so all he can do is watch as the figure in front of him gestures, and a small flame flickers into existence in their hand.

The person in front of him is older, more lines on his face, more silver in his hair and beard, but it’s  _him_ , blue eyes the same as they stare back at him.

“My time here isn’t long, so I must unfortunately make this brief. You are making a mistake.”

Caleb must manage some sort of change in expression because the other him quirks half a smile. “ _Ja_ , I know. This is all rather circumspect, but this is important.” The other’s face hardens, grows serious. “I know things for you, for  _us_ , are difficult right now. And I will not lie to you and tell you that things will get better; they won’t, not right away. They are in fact about to get much worse.” Caleb sees his double glance over Caleb’s shoulder, back towards where the others are still sleeping with Frumpkin keeping watch. The other him’s face flickers with an emotion, and Caleb is intimately familiar with what grief looks like, especially on himself. When the other Caleb looks back at him, his face has smoothed out, calm but serious again. “But if you go, if you leave,  _all_ will be lost. It is a lot to ask of you, I remember how you feel right now- we always remember,  _ja_?- but you are strong enough to do it. It won’t feel like it-” The other him reaches out and gently places a hand on Caleb’s shoulder, squeezing lightly before letting his arm drop again. “-it will hurt, quite a lot, I’m afraid, but we are no stranger to pain, are we?”

Caleb feels the spell’s hold on him loosen, and he takes a stumbling step back and away from the other him.  
  
“But…why? Why are you here? Does this mean it  _works_? That I can…that I can achieve my goals?”

The smile on his double’s face saddens, grows dimmer. “Yes and no. I won’t insult you by telling you no, because I would obviously not be here otherwise. However, that is not to say your goals may not change, given time.” The older Caleb flickers briefly, gone then back, the edges of him seeming to shiver in the dim firelight. “I must go, the universe abhors such abnormalities, and we should not both be here.”

“But…but  _why_? Why did you come back to tell me this? What was so important?”

The other him glances over Caleb’s shoulder again, toward the clearing, and Caleb can’t help but glance back as well, and the answer when it comes is spoken so softly that Caleb only catches it because he’s so focused on listening for it.

“I wanted to remember what home felt like. And to fix what could be fixed.”

“But what does that-” Caleb turns back to find the other him is gone, no sign that he’d ever been there to start with.

Of all the things he’s experienced since joining up with the Mighty Nein, this is surely the most impossible; but It means it can  _work_ , that his goals are achievable.

But perhaps not so readily if he leaves now.

He spends another moment considering before turning around and heading back to the clearing. He sets his pack down, careful not to make too much noise, and takes a seat next to his only slightly smug owl.

He sits, and waits out the last of his watch. He doesn’t mention anything of what he’s seen when the others awaken that morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Ich werde dir nicht schäden_.- I will not harm you.


	11. Sickfic: Caleb Widogast + "You're burning up!"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt on tumblr from @rohanrider3: "Yay! If your askbox is still open, here’s a prompt :D Character: Caleb Widogast, phrase: “You’re burning up.” <3 <3″

It starts small, as such things often do.

Caleb hasn’t always caught sick so easily; it’s only after the asylum he really begins to notice it. He has some ideas on what’s happened, but most of the time he just tries not to think about it.

This time, it starts with a small tickle in his throat. It’s not too bad; his voice gets rougher for a few days, and Nott sneaks honey drops into his pockets when he isn’t looking, but he feels okay all things considered. Then his sinuses get into it, which is less than grand, and his throat gets worse when he starts breathing through his mouth as his nose gets stuffier. In the evenings when the group makes camp, Nott tugs his bedroll a few inches closer to the fire when he’s doing something else, but he tugs it back away with a pointed look at her which she pretends not to notice.

If it had stayed just that, it would have been unpleasant for a few days, but it would have been fine. Unfortunately, as Caleb has learned, and will apparently need to learn again, his luck isn’t spectacular, and the illness doesn’t feel satisfied to just stay up in his head. A day or so later the cough begins, and again, at first it isn’t bad. When Jester gives him a concerned look and asks if he’s alright he waves her off. “It’s just a cold, Jester, I don’t think there’s much to be done about it.”

She narrows her eyes at him, considering, then nods, a smile blooming across her face. “If you say so, Caleb, but you know I am a  _great_ healer, so if you change your mind and want me to give it a shot, you just say the word and I’ll get right on that for you!”

He can’t help but smile at her enthusiasm. “Thank you, Jester, you will be the first I talk to if that is the case.”

Another couple of days pass, and he can admit that maybe his cough won’t just go away on its own. It’s settling, taking root, and it hurts sometimes when he breathes too deep or too quickly. He’s felt something like this before, right before he and Nott escaped prison together, and it took medicine to fix it then. He doesn’t have medicine this time, and they’re still days away from the nearest village. Jester’s delighted when Caleb approaches her for help, but less so when her attempts to cure the cough fail. She frowns, the gentle blue glow from her fingertips fading as she pulls her hand back from its place on his chest.

“I’m sorry, Caleb, I thought I could help, but I think that maybe, because this technically isn’t a wound, that maybe the type of spells I have right now won’t work. I can try again, though, if you’d like? Or, oh! I can ask the Traveler tonight if he has any ideas, and then we’ll see maybe tomorrow?”

Caleb shakes his head with a tired smile and pulls his coat tighter around himself. “Don’t worry yourself over it, Jester. We should be reaching the next town soon, and we can handle it then. I will be okay.”

Caleb doesn’t like being wrong, but when they’re attacked by a troll that evening in camp, he has to admit he’s worse off than he initially thought.

The troll thankfully doesn’t spurt poison the way the one in the Labenda swamp had, but it does still regenerate, and it’s quickly becoming a problem. It’s already tossed Fjord aside, and he isn’t moving from where he landed. Caleb thinks it might be easier to fight if it would just stay still; he pulls his clay cat’s paw from his pocket and concentrates, and out of the ground springs a giant earthen paw which grabs the troll, holding it still for the others to attack.

That’s all well and good until Caleb starts coughing and can’t stop. He tries, but every time he gasps for air he starts coughing again, and oh  _gods_ , he can’t breathe. His vision goes gray at the edges, and between one second and the next he loses concentration on the spell and his cat’s paw loses its grip on the troll. He doesn’t see what happens, but when he finally manages to stop coughing long enough to gasp a breath in, it’s eerily quiet. He’s fallen to his hands and knees, though he isn’t sure when it happened; it must have at some point though because he’s on the ground, the clay cat’s paw beside him and his fingers digging into the soil from where he’s been fighting to breathe. He looks over at where the troll now lies, minus its head, with Yasha standing over it with her sword covered in blood. That- that’s good. Jester’s next to Fjord, who’s just sitting up, and that’s also good. Still panting for breath, Caleb glances around and spots Molly, who’s on his knees not far away, leaning over- oh. Oh  _no_ , that’s Nott laying under Molly, and she isn’t moving.

Caleb scrambles to his feet and stumbles over to drop back to the ground next to Molly who’s just opened a healing potion and is working to get Nott’s mouth open. Caleb bats his hand away and reaches in himself, hefting Nott up to a sitting position and getting a grip on her chin to make it easier for Molly. Nott’s limp and pliant in his hands, and he can see the rips in her clothing from where the troll must have gotten her with its claws. As Molly gets the potion into her, the deep wounds under the fabric start to close, the bleeding slowing, then coming to a stop completely. Caleb feels lightheaded in relief, then realizes it isn’t just relief he’s feeling. The world goes distant, muffled, and even though he isn’t coughing, it doesn’t feel like he’s getting enough air. He sets Nott aside gently as he can in his increasing panic, and pulls sharply at the collar of his shirt, his hands starting to shake. He knows panicking will only make his breathing worse, but it’s difficult not to panic when it feels like his chest is being squeezed, no air getting in. His lungs ache, and he can hear Molly calling his name, getting more distressed by the moment, but he can’t get enough air to respond.

Things go hazy, snippets of conversation and sensations bleeding through, though it’s difficult to focus. A cool hand lands on his cheek, then his forehead, and he tries to lean into it, but can’t seem to move. He can vaguely feel he’s trembling and can’t stop, and his chest still hurts, a deep ache that makes it hard to breathe still, like Frumpkin’s sitting on his chest. He lifts his arms to push Frumpkin off only to have hands catch at his wrists and gently push them back down near his sides.

“ _BItte_ -” Why won’t they let him move Frumpkin, don’t they know he can’t breathe? He mentally commands the familiar to move, but nothing happens, and he doesn’t understand why Frumpkinis suddenly ignoring him. He pulls at the hands on his wrists, but they’re far stronger than him, and he feels his panic starting to grow. He can’t breathe, can’t move, and why won’t they help? Why won’t Frumpkin listen?  _Why_ -?

He struggles harder, but he’s getting weaker, and it’s more and more difficult to draw breathe, which only fuels his panic. The voices around him rise, pieces of conversation breaking through.

“-do we  _do_? He’s burning up and we’re still at least a day away from the nearest town!”

“We’ve gotta cool him off. Help me, Yasha, there’s a stream over-”

Next thing he knows he’s moving, being lifted, and he can’t help the whine of distress and discomfort wrung out of him at the movement. He doesn’t know how he hasn’t noticed it before, but his whole body aches, his joints thrumming in pain at every jostle and movement. He wants to beg them to stop, but can’t get breath enough to do more than whimper.

Blessedly things slow and stop, but then there are hands on him,  _so_ many hands, pulling and tugging at his coat, his boots, his holsters, and oh gods, his  _books_ , please no, not those-

Again, he fights, but to no avail. He’s quickly down to shivering in his pants and linen shirt and he’s being picked up again.

“Hold him tight, he’s gonna thrash when we hit the water, but we need to bring the fever down.”

His thoughts are syrupy and slow, too slow to process what’s being said around him until it’s much too late. The first splash of icy water is a shock and his body locks up in surprise as he’s dragged further into the cold depths. His shivering intensifies until he can feel his teeth rattling. Everything hurts, everything feels like ice, and he doesn’t know what he’s done to warrant this.

Though, his mind supplies as he weakly struggles against the arms holding him, perhaps he’s died in the troll attack. Perhaps he’s dead, and this is his eternal punishment. He’s always assumed he’d spend eternity suffering in flames, but there’s something oddly poetic about the cold and wet, the bone-deep misery that’s swallowing him up, sending shards of ice into his joints and making him gasp and choke for air.

At a certain point his body gives out on him and he goes limp, the hands on him the only things holding him up. He’s still shaking, shivering uncontrollably, and gods, all he wants is for the misery to end, to pass out if that’s a thing the dead can do, if only so he could have a few moments of relief. He’s so tired, beyond exhausted, weary to his core, and to his immense relief, he does in fact pass out.

When Caleb wakes again, his mind feels marginally clearer. He’s bundled in a nest of blankets that he realizes is made up of everyone’s bedrolls, but partially sitting up, leaning back against some of the sacks of horse feed in the bed of their cart; the cart is in motion, the jostling of the wheels on the road cushioned by the blankets and making it bearable, if only just. It’s still difficult to breathe, and he’s still very uncomfortable, the haze of fever still settled however lightly over his thoughts.

“Caleb?”

It takes a lot of effort, but Caleb turns his head and gets his eyes to focus on Molly, who’s sitting a few feet away, back up against the side of the cart. His face lights up when he sees Caleb’s awake, and he grabs a water skin before scooting over to Caleb’s side.

“Hey. Do you think you could drink some water?”

Speaking seems inconceivably complicated, so he just nods, and Molly’s smile grows brighter. Molly uncorks the water skin and tilts it up letting water dribble into Caleb’s mouth slowly so as not to choke him. Caleb only manages a mouthful or two before he turns his head away, gasping for air again. Molly recorks the skin and brushes hair out of Caleb’s face, holding the back of his hand to Caleb’s forehead before making an unhappy sound and frowning.

“You’re still far too warm. We got your fever down from where it was, though, which is a blessing. We’ve been traveling as fast as possible so we can get to the next town. Yasha rode ahead to see if there was a doctor available, so there should be help waiting when we get there. In the meantime, try to rest if you can, alright?”

Caleb hummed in response, eyes sliding shut, letting the gentle rumble of the cart lull him into a restless slumber.


End file.
